reflect ion

The world was too small

to hold your body back from breaking into places

it had not seen

before you thought it possible

to go there.

Where you caught yourself

alone in the shadows which crept upon your

silence staring into the mirror above your bathroom sink

thinking about all that had beaten you

into bits and pieces of pain

bounced off those white walls weeping into that

darkness. The weight on your shoulders.

The history in your hip bones

knocking the bench

repeatedly stretched across your vision

there were scissors to your right hand

a razor in your left


Or wrist?

or this time, please, just a twist of your lens cap

a knowing there is no coming back from that forever

goodbye wrapping itself around your thoughts

that there was always more

for you.

How many depths must you dive

before you understand how far below

you can survive on your own?

How many inferno’s must you walk into

before you stop letting yourself split in two

before you understand love, is not an answer

but a question which never demands you change

only grow into someone better than present

but most people only seem to know

how to fall apart into another’s together

forget themselves in the fear of forever

and after all this time, how much of you is left?

Dylan thought the answer was blowing in the wind, my friend

but I think it lives beneath your skin.

In the unspoken sadness which sears those words you could never say.

In the face of those farewells you were so far feeling okay about

but were afraid to turn into the truth

no doubt, it’s in the anguish of those decisions you wish you hadn’t made.

And even though their pain fades away tomorrow dawns

on new scars which mark an invisible part of a permanent wound

always wondering


Maybe if there were no rocks by that river Woolf would have written again.

Maybe if there was no gas in that oven Plath would have paved a different path into peace.

Maybe if there was just. one. catch. in your fall

you wouldn’t have felt the need to jump

at all


maybe not.

Because there was an infinite breathing deep beneath your darkness

worth more than any amount of : wait : I could have whispered.

You were breaking glass.

Which was breaking you into pieces

more precious than any other art

form you could develop

The trouble with being a trail blazer

is they never get to see

how far they have come

how many people have fallen into themselves

because of the work which

bought them undone.

They only feel the ache

of bruised bodies beating to an ever impossible

always just outside their reaching into hearts

which can do nothing to stop their hands

building bridges into new cities

creating new lands

their present surroundings

will never understand.

© Kendall Kirkwood (2018)

  • Instagram Social Icon
  • Facebook Social Icon
  • Twitter Social Icon